


home

by minimalcoloration



Series: reflections [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insanity, Lightwarden Au, Murder, Obsession, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 04:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minimalcoloration/pseuds/minimalcoloration
Summary: It's a cycle of insanity.





	home

The ugly miasma is what greets L’mihn in the morning when she rolls over in the thin blanket that covers her- gazing at the ugly orange and yellow patterns of the sewn tent. The colors that decorate Saint Coinach’s Find are unmistakable, and there’s a dull quiet when she blinks slowly- gaze falling on a lamp unlit. Part of her doesn’t want to get up, comfortable in the violet warmth that resembles something like home. Slowly, she moves her hands until they rest against the ground under her and she pushes herself up- head lulled and hair entirely in her face. Brushing it aside, L’mihn looks at the crack in the fabric of her tent- sunlight leaking in and forming ripples of warmth against the skin of her arm. Quietly, she reaches for the flap and pulls it back.

Mor Dhona is bathed in the sun, and she stumbles out of the tent like a newborn- out into the harsh silence. There’s no one around, in their place are the tents she remembers- distinctly the one she was in as she turns around to take in her surroundings, G’raha slept there, hers was actually two tents down. There’s not a living soul in sight, and her bare feet press into the dirt as she inspects behind every barrel- every hiding spot she and G’raha would slip behind to avoid Rammbroes’ watchful gaze as they snuck out of the camp. Nothing. This is where panic would set in, she remembers, but there’s nothing to feel other than the miasma in the air and the dirt on her feet. So she keeps looking.

Past Saint Coinach’s Find, past the tree that she and G’raha would take naps under in the middle of their search of the tower, past the Singing Shards where she stood across Tristan for the last time, all the way along the empty road until her hands fall against the Crystal Gate. Part of L’mihn remembers what lies beyond, _who_ lies beyond, what horrid memories haunt her, wound her, and drive her all at once. When she pushes against it, it doesn’t budge. Again and against she pushes against the door until she’s run her skin red from the sharp edges. Why won’t it open, why is it closed, she knows _she knows_ how to open the gate why won’t it _open_? A numb distress fills her and she hits it, as hard as she can, like he could hear her in his glorious tower, like he could _open the gate._ Nothing happens and she grows in her frenzy, again and again and _again_ _and _**_again._** Until her white skin breaks with the sheer force of her hits, the gate breaking more and more and she’s _so close, she can feel it give way, can feel the burn of being alive-_

The rock wall falls to reveal nothing, and like that so too does the glamour of her dreams fade until Mor Dhona is an eon away compared to the hollow of her nest. L’mihn leans against the hole in the rock, passing a bloodied hand across it’s ridges- watching as the color of her blood taints it a wonderful gold. Somehow, some way,  _ she needs to open that gate _ . Find it, her instinct tells her-  _ find it find it find it find it find it find it- _

Something comes. L’mihn feels it in the way her blood sings, in the way the haze of her vision clears. No,  _ someone _ comes, they come  _ home, _ and they come to  _ her _ . An adventurer eyes wide and heart pounding how  _ delightful, how extraordinary, how  _ ** _foolish._ ** Don’t they know what lies beyond this gate, of the stories sung by bards dressed in odd attire; don’t they know  _ this is  _ ** _hers_ ** _ ? _ What if they know, her mind whispers, what if they’re here for  _ him, what if they take him away from you again and again and again and they cannot have him they cannot have him they cannot have him- _

Something delightful sparks through her when she lunges, feeling the warmth of their skin against her cool hands, clinging to the way they choke and wheeze as the light claims their life- as her hands squeeze until her claws are half buried in their skin, beautiful bright red seeping down her palms. They won’t answer her anymore, their screams have calmed- it’s quiet,  _ beautiful.  _ When she drops them they crumble onto the floor, and she blinks.

Her father lies dead before her.

She screams. Clutches at her head until she feels the hairs rip out, desperately looks anywhere but in front of her but they’re  _ everywhere. _ Bodies upon bodies, each and every one bearing the face of her father- they’re all around her, looking at her,  _ judging her it’s your fault, it's your fault, it's your fault, it's your fault it’s your fault-  _ She start’s running, starts stepping over the rocks and crystals, away from the bodies she has to  _ run she has to leave she has to  _ ** _live_ ** _ . _ Yet they follow, strewn across the ground like dolls they all turn their gaze when she runs by, eyes an empty  _ white _ . No matter where she goes they find her, grab her by the ankles and watch her slam into the ground and claw at the dirt- watch her scream until her voice breaks and her blood leaves golden droplets in its wake.  _ You cannot escape, _ they yell,  _ you cannot escape you are ours forever murderer murderer murderer monster monster monster. _

L’mihn squeezes her eyes shut and buries her claws into her chest- tries to tear her heart out but find there’s nothing there to begin with and she panics, no  _ no no no no no where is it where is it where is it- _

Saint Coinarch’s Find.

G’raha will be there, he’ll be there and in his hands will be her heart and she’ll be able to rid herself of her memories  _ over and over and over.  _ Until the ground is nothing but the red of his blood and the blue of her father’s skin and in her hands she’ll hold  _ their _ hearts and crush them in her palm like he had done to her all those years ago yes  _ yes yes yes yes- _

Sprinting, she’s sprinting and in the distance she can see it, Saint Coinarch’s Find. Home  _ home home home home home _ , she collapses onto the ground in front of G’raha’s tent, and rips it open. It’s here somewhere  _ somewhere it’s  _ ** _here_ ** .

There’s nothing there.

L’mihn buries her claws into her skin, shaking, sinking onto the blankets of his makeshift bed.

**Author's Note:**

> tap dances over my own grave, I didn't mention bahamut this time so it's a miracle  
imagine making your wol suffer haha, who would do that????


End file.
